


Mount Thor

by pozorvlak, twinkleflange



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mountaineering, Mountains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pozorvlak/pseuds/pozorvlak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkleflange/pseuds/twinkleflange
Summary: The Avengers go on a climbing holiday.





	

Despite a higher-than-usual level of outright nonsense, Steve was rather enjoying the ascent of what would soon be called Mount Thor. He couldn't quite recall how the thunder god had found out about naming natural structures after people, places, and civilisations, but once he had discovered the practice, and especially how the right of naming was traditionally won by conquest (though increasingly, by politely asking the nearest people) he had mourned loudly that there were no such places on Asgard which he might claim.

"Though thy mortal lives be fleeting, do not think the burden of years never falls upon our shoulders heavy. Midgard has been for but 4.3 billion of your years, but Asgard is near thrice as old: long before even the Allfather walked in my realm, naught but a pebble or a raindrop had not its own name. Were I a man of Midgard, I would fain triumph over such a worthy adversary, and bring honour upon a name of my choosing."

"I'm pretty sure there's no law against naming a place when you're not from Earth. And there are plenty of unnamed mountains, all over," said Hawkeye, picking his teeth with an arrow. Steve had given him a meaningful look: sometimes the team sniper didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Thor had been like a wind-up toy after that. Steve had found that when when one of his team got a bee in their bonnet, it usually paid to let them see it through: besides, with the geopolitical situation as stable as it ever got, it was a good time to take a vacation. Once all the paperwork had been dealt with, and Tony had finalised the polymers he planned to test at altitude, being out in the fresh, though rather thin air was a sight better than being stuck in the office. And nearly everyone had agreed: the team was all present and correct, except for Colonel Rhodes (who had some schedule conflicts), and Dr Banner. The latter had come as far as his old haunt of Kathmandu, but claimed to not want to risk a hulk-out at altitude. Steve’s Gurkhali was a little shaky (and seventy years out of date) but he was pretty sure the pamphlet he spotted sticking out of Bruce’s ragged haversack said something along the lines of _Tea Tasting Tour (Intensive)_.

The onward trek from the roadhead frequently reminded him of days gone by, tramping across difficult terrain with the Howling Commandos. The memories, though fond, gave him an occasional pang. But happiness, too: he was still here, in the world he had fought for with his old friends, with new friends. As he pondered his mirrored lives, the billy started to boil. It was as good a time as any to wake up the team. He started, as he found it was usually wise to do, with the hardest task.

"It's time to go, Tony." Stark responded with a short roar of rage.

Mind you, if they had known they were risking everything for a world where men faced indignities like being _woken before dawn_ , they might not have bothered. 

But he'd try again.

"Water's boiled, Tony. You'll feel better after you make a nice cuppa joe." Tony’s problem was that he thought too fast: in the time which it would have taken most people’s critical awareness to kick into gear, Tony had already mentally composed and rejected two or three short speeches — all of which would have been wry but flawlessly logical, with an inner hint of heartbreaking vulnerability.

"I make new realities. I make revolutions. Everything I have worked for my whole life, could be summed up as making sure _as few people as possible have to make their own coffee_. Let alone have to _shit in a hole in the ground._ "

His attitude had Steve scratching his head. He'd read the man's file — he had withstood some fearsome torture at the hands of Ten Rings, stayed cool under pressure in countless battles, bootstrapped advanced technology from rudimentary supplies more than once — and the simple realities of field sanitation had him whining like a four year old. Like a _particularly whiny_ four year old. He remembered Rhodey’s rather wolfish smile as he wished them _bon voyage,_ and how quickly he’d responded in the negative to the invitation. It figured.

Which begged the question of why Tony had come in the first place, particularly when Steve spotted the dates on the notes pertaining to those polymers Tony had claimed to have been tinkering on for months (not to mention his perfectly good hypobaric suite). A guy could almost end up thinking he just hated being lonely.

“Be thankful you get a hole in the ground and not a supply of plastic bags,” muttered Natasha darkly.

"Do you even know how to make coffee, Stark?" asked Barton, from where he was striking his tent with marked efficiency. They taught those secret service boys solid practical skills.

"Oh, I understand the basic principle. If I grok the technique, (1) finely grind the dry roasted seeds of the caffeine bearing genus _Coffea_ ; (2) pour over 94 degree water, and after allowing the brew to reach the preferred infusion level, (3) take a funnel and pour it directly up the ass of any mouthy goddamned archers who happen near." Hawkeye didn't even bother responding. Usually Stark always had the field advantage, but out here he was distinctly out of his element.

They roped up - Clint to Natasha, Steve to Sam, and the two flight-capable members of the team climbing solo - and set off up the East Ridge (by common consent, they'd decided to leave the outrageously overhanging, mile-high north face for the second ascensionists). Their crampons bit satisfyingly into the 45° ice, teetering occasionally on the odd rocky step. Tony had been loudly dismissive of their climbing gear, but Steve had thought modern kit was amazingly good compared to the stuff he'd used in the Italian campaign in ‘44. Sam had given them all an intensive refresher in modern mountaineering techniques before they set out: the basics hadn't changed much, but having ropes that you could rely on not to break was a game-changer.

Finally, they stood on the summit. Thor seemed truly moved, as he anchored the biodegradable flag given to him by an Instagram follower to the earth. He had been deeply affected by the gift, initially interpreting it as representing the bond of friendship between their two worlds as symbolised by the Rainbow Bridge — but had still been touched (if a little bemused) when the intended meaning had been explained to him.

"I'm sorry if you thought we were done,” said Steve, “but at least half of mountaineering is the descent."

“Indeed! FOR ASGARD!” Thor’s triumphant cry Dopplered past the team as he leapt in the air, swinging Mjolnir, and dived off the prow of Mount Thor. Steve sighed and shook his head. He turned to find the source of a soft whirring noise — and saw a rather guilty looking Falcon, wings deployed.

“Sorry man, but I've wanted to do this since jump school.” He dived over after Thor.

“Welp, guess I'd better observe the first flight test of the new ultralight Stark Industries X-1L Falcon Personal Flight System,” said Tony, and rocketed after them. Steve suppressed a smile. Tony might not make _weapons_ any more, but he wasn't above accepting the Pentagon's money for improved SAR gear.

“Hey, it looks like my climbing partner's abandoned me,” he called to Clint and Natasha. “Mind if I tie on with you two?”

“Sure thing, Cap,” said Natasha, “but are you sure you don't want to go with them? I thought your superpower was jumping off tall things and not dying.”

“I figure you could use a hand stripping Advance Base Camp,” responded Steve, trying on to the middle of the rope with a fluid alpine butterfly knot. “After all, Leave No Trace!” (This was true, as far as it went: but also, the glacier was a _very_ long way down, some of those rocks had looked pretty spiky, and he'd left his shield at Base Camp).

“Hey, Cap, isn't there a Mount Rogers in one of the 'stans?” called Hawkeye from the back of the rope.

“Kyrgyzstan, yeah,” replied Steve with obvious embarrassment. “They renamed it during _perestroika,_ when everyone thought I was dead.”

“You're not allowed to name geographical features after living people in the former Soviet republics,” explained Natasha to Clint's raised eyebrows. “Never mind, Steve; I'm sure if we ask the Kyrgyz nicely they'll change the name back to Mount Stalin.”

**Author's Note:**

> There really is a Mount Thor, albeit in the Canadian Arctic rather than Nepal, and it's [just as outrageously overhanging](http://www.amusingplanet.com/2013/03/mount-thor-greatest-vertical-drop-on.html) as the one in the story. This fic was partly inspired by [The Asgard Project](http://www.leohoulding.com/expedition/the-asgard-project), a film about an ascent of Mount Asgard (near to the real Mount Thor), and partly by pozorvlak's 2016 first-ascenting trip to the Kuiluu massif in Kyrgyzstan ([summary report](https://www.dropbox.com/s/c2xkq1iuonoiu2v/Kyrgyzstansummaryreport-non-MEF.pdf?dl=0), [selected photos](https://www.facebook.com/miles.gould/media_set?set=a.10153841541507234.1073741868.521097233&type=3)).


End file.
